In the Red
by Thunderxtw
Summary: Were we partners in crime or an odd couple waiting to explode?


**In the Red**

We go back many years, you and I.

Were we partners in crime or an odd couple waiting to explode? It didn't matter what you dubbed us. We did our thing and that was it.

Our moments were like something off Television; you'd ridicule my Mohawk and call me an "_eejit_" and I'd spite you with sexist remarks. My favorites were when you'd curse me out in Irish Gaelic and leave me dumbfounded over what to say in retort.

You brewed espressos and tea like nobody else and made me forget the days of hard bagels and stale coffee. I drove you to work and had to put up with you berating the music I played on the way.

Things were fine, or I wanted to think they were.

As the days grew colder, so did you, and all it took was one anonymous phone call from a woman to put you on edge. You averted your eyes whenever I asked what was wrong and you murmured cryptic things that didn't make sense. Then you left home with grocery shopping as your excuse. I came back after work and found the note you left me.

It was a shame we didn't talk after the argument.

I promised I wouldn't resort to violence as the days continued to pass. It was what you would've wanted, right? However, every morning, I want to punch something; every afternoon, I want to kick something; every night, I want to break something. That punching bag was never good enough to vent my rage. Holding a gun would make me no better than your sister when she pulled the trigger that day. All that from a threat made against someone close to you, you said. Tell me, if I were to go hunt her tomorrow, would you hate me for it? You two share nothing but blood, and you've worn it on your dress through most of your life. Your loss was her gain…and my end.

I wish it were me instead.

The world saw you as a devil, engulfed in your scarlet flames of sensuality and embitterment. If that were so, then I was your underworld and everyone else's nightmare. Love was too simple a word to describe what we had—or needed. You, of all people, kept me company when the demons weren't enough. Still, I wonder to this day why you wasted your time on a lonely street urchin like me, but you never needed a reason for anything, did you?

To Kazuya, you were a puppet, meant to dance and hobble around at his every command. You never needed my help cutting the strings or giving you a mind of your own.

Your devil-may-care attitude was something many frowned upon, but you never did anything that people found morally acceptable. It wasn't my place to understand you, because I wasn't in your shoes, your skin, seeing the world in red through deep, eyeliner-coated blue eyes. I at least wanted to get an idea of what you were like inside instead of underneath, and maybe that was what drew me in.

I'd break every bone in my body just to see your lips gleam in the sun one more time, hear your super-breathy voice in my ear, and share a toast with you at the bar. We were so close, yet so far away from each other.

I was never one for tears and you always scolded me for that. Sometimes, I'd curse this silent, stoic mask life had forced me to wear, because I wish I could've given you more of what lied beyond it.

Over here, everything was as you left it; clothes folded in a neat pile on the bed, high-heels lined in a perfect row in the closet, and all your makeup alphabetized on the dresser. The room still reeked of your body oils and hairspray. If I tried hard enough, I could envision you clomping back and forth in there in your stilettos, mumbling over where you'd misplaced your jewelry.

The other day, your cat jumped atop the sofa and peered out the window overlooking the parking lot, awaiting your arrival. She kept calling you and I knew she wondered why you didn't answer.

Outside, the gunshots echoed louder at night now than they'd ever did. During those noisy hours, I'd shut my eyes and try to block it out, but when the silence thickened, I'd feel I'd lose my mind.

When I saw the handwriting in your note, I knew there was something you wanted to tell me that you strained to put into words, something you couldn't say to me face to face. You never needed to say or write it, because I all ready knew.

Wherever you've gone, you left a mark behind on the only world you had a place in.

My only desire was for you to have realized it.

**Author's note:**

**Eejit**: Irish slang for 'idiot.'


End file.
